


Another Level of Genius

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-16
Updated: 2009-01-16
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: [Fic Exchange '08] Bloody hell. They were going to crucify him. Nail him to a wooden cross and point and laugh. Children would learn about him in Sunday School — St. James, the martyr who died for his penchant for trouble. All over the world, people would wait for Pottermas, the season of cheer and laughter.





	Another Level of Genius

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Merry Christmas, Bee (Beedaily)!

.

"All right, gentlemen, here's The Plan."

James scanned the three faces in front of him before continuing. It was an age-honored pattern between the four of them, a tradition as vital to the Christmas season as trimming the tree or attempting to corner Dorcas Meadows under the mistletoe. James, Remus, or Sirius (and, on one memorable occasion involving the Owlery and an army of singing toothbrushes, Pete) came up with The Plan, a noble prank exacted in wishes that their helpless fellow students might be saved from the dastardly consequences of awkward silences with their relatives when they returned home, and the others reacted accordingly.

The anticipation was nearly as much a part of the holiday tradition as The Plan itself, though expressions of said anticipation varied, depending on who it was pulling together the plans. As James scanned the faces of his friends, he noted that Sirius looked rather bored, which was frankly unsurprising, being Sirius' default expression. Pete looked likely to burst with excitement, always being the most willing to begin preparations as soon as the plans were in order. Remus simply looked amused, as though he knew exactly what his friend was going to say next. Which, said friend reminded himself, he probably did.

James cleared his throat, and the other three shifted expectantly.

"Friends, gentlemen, distinguished colleagues. The Plan was first exacted in the depths of history, in days of darkness gone past. It has traveled with us through the years, blazing a trail of hope and light and inspiration for the future generations of the world. It has become a vibrant part of the holiday tradition here at the distinguished Hogwarts School, taking – nay, seizing – a life of its own. Which is why, I regret to inform you, I have no Plan to present to you this year."

Silence descended. James looked from Sirius, to Pete, to Remus, all of whose faces were perfectly impassive. Bloody hell. They were going to crucify him. Nail him to a wooden cross and point and laugh. Children would learn about him in Sunday School – St. James, the martyr who died for his passion for pranks. All over the world, people would wait for Pottermas, the season of cheer and laughter. Yes, they might kill him, but his legacy would live on, make no mistake.

The silence stretched on. Then, finally, Remus turned to Sirius and said, "You owe me fifteen Sickles."

Sirius grumbled and shoved his hand in his pocket, extracting the money.

"Thank you," said Remus, evidently quite satisfied with himself as he began to count the silver coins in the palm of his hand.

Pete raised his eyebrows and said, "And that's fifteen for me."

"I don't have any more. That was the last of my shopping money."

"Should've thought about that before betting on a lost cause, then, shouldn't you have? I'll take your guitar in exchange."

"That's ridiculous! My guitar's worth more than fifteen Sickles."

"Only until we leave for the holidays. Sirius, you can't even play that thing – "

"He has a fair point," Remus agreed.

" – and I've a broken string on mine."

While the argument between the other three had been waging, James had been attempting to wrap his head around the situation. Finally, after fishing for something – _anything_ – to say to make sense of this situation, he spluttered, "You lot had a _betting_ pool on me?"

"All's fair in love and war, amigo," said Sirius.

"And this is neither."

"Touché."

Remus grinned wryly and said, "Sorry, Prongs, but it was obvious you'd had your mind on... other things the past few weeks."

"Weeks?" Sirius sounded scandalized. "Try months. Years, even!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"So," Pete said conversationally, "you actually mean to tell us you haven't been neglecting The Plan in lieu of a grand scheme to win Lily Evans, after years of Christmases spent with an aim to do just so?"

"Again, not reading," replied James.

"Oh, please, The Biting Mistletoe Incident of '75?"

"The Loaded Snitch Debacle of '73?"

"The Great Engorgement Charm of '76?"

James cut him off with a sharp look. "We took a solemn oath never to speak of The Great Charm, Sirius. You swore on your mother."

He shrugged. "Make me swear on something I actually give a damn about next time."

"Good point."

"Point is," Remus said, "we all knew you weren't going to pull through with The Plan. So we did."

For a moment, James didn't know whether to be annoyed or grateful. On the one hand, it had been his turn, his solemn duty, to pull together The Plan of 1977, the very last Plan that Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would impart upon Hogwarts School (they fully expected a lesser group of pranksters to continue the noble tradition once they left – that had, after all, been half the point). If his comrades-at-arms didn't have the confidence nor trust in him to do that, in what else did they doubt his abilities? On the other hand, they had been entirely right to doubt his _current_ abilities, and it would have just been embarrassing if The Plan hadn't gone off that year. People would talk, you know.

In the end, he went with grateful. It was for a greater cause, after all.

"All right," James flopped on the floor, reaching for a chocolate bar that had fallen out of Remus' stash. "so what's The Plan to be this year?"

"Well," Remus started, "Have you consulted an almanac recently?"

*

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"Remind me how many times she's said that today," Flo said conversationally.

"I'm counting thirteen," replied Dorcas, not moving her eyes from her magazine.

Lily threw a pillow at her, dodged it as it was returned in a similar manner, and promptly resumed her pacing, which was a rather remarkable feat, considering that the floor of their dormitory was littered with candy wrappers, clothes, and old editions of WitchVogue. Earlier in the morning, Bianca had made a half-hearted attempt to clean, but between the unwillingness of the other two and the communal disorder that made it impossible to discern which items belonged to which girl, she soon gave it up as an hopeless task.

"Honestly," Lily said, "I'm just surprised you both aren't more suspicious."

"About what? Your inability to focus on anything but James Potter?"

"Sorry to break it to you, love, but we'd have to have been living under a rock the past couple years to find anything suspicious about that," added Flo.

"Shut up," Lily snorted, "I wasn't talking about James, I meant the whole bloody lot of them."

Dorcas looked up. "I didn't know you were into that sort of thing. Just promise me you'll use protection, all right sweetie? You know how those virile young men can get."

A look of pure horror came over Lily's face. "Okay, just... no."

"Seriously, though," Flo said, clearing a space next to her and patting the floor in invitation, "I do get where you're coming from. It is weird."

"More than weird," Lily burst out as she sat down. "It's horrid weather, everyone's stuck inside, perfect scenario for them to execute their prank. But it's already three in the afternoon! Do you see a prank anywhere? That's what I thought."

There was a pause for a moment, during which time Flo and Dorcas exchanged a small glance. Another pause, and then –

"What?"

"If I didn't know any better," said Flo, a small grin of mischief coming over her, "and if I wasn't talking to the infamous Head Girl Lily Evans, I'd say you were disappointed."

"Disappointed?" Lily scoffed. "Not on your life. Just glad I won't have to give the Head Boy a detention, that's all."

Dorcas turned back to her magazine and flipped a page, superbly unconvinced. "Whatever you say, Lily dearest."

Another moment passed, then she said, "Well, I suppose it's a little sad, you know, being our last year and everything. But don't you dare tell them I told you that."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

For a moment the girls just sat there, Lily biting her lower lip, Flo grinning as she reached for a bottle of festive red nail polish, Dorcas heavily invested in her magazine. After a moment, Lily stood up decisively and walked out of the dormitory. Her friends shared a conspiratorial look and shook hands.

*

"Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful..." Sirius trailed off into a hum, though whether to defy or submit to James' glaring, none of the boys could say.

"This was a bad idea, Sirius."

"My dear Prongs, there lies a sentence that ought never to be uttered."

"He may have a point," said Pete. "This _is_ Lily Evans we're talking about. You know, Head Girl, feisty ginger, hates breaking rules, hates James even more."

"Hey," James protested, "I'm growing on her. I just don't think she's prepared to rise to our level yet."

Remus smiled thoughtfully and said, "Well, I don't know. I have faith yet in our female cohorts."

"By 'cohorts,' I will assume you simply mean study partners, Mr. Lupin, seeing as it is the last day of the term and I would really hate to take points from Gryffindor, especially a prefect or, Merlin forbid, the Head Boy," said a horribly familiar voice from behind them.

Assuming well-practiced faces of innocence, the boys turned from their hideout behind the statue of Brunhilda the Begrudged to face Professor McGonagall, who was looking decidedly unfestive, despite the tinsel around her hat and the replacement of her usual tartan with a red-and-green one.

For a moment, Remus said nothing, flustered at having been found in such a compromising situation. All three of his comrades opened their mouths to come to his rescue, but were saved themselves from improvising a decent explanation by the loud crash and sudden scent of dragon dung that was floating down the hallway. Thankfully McGonagall had buried her head in her hands, such that only James saw the flash of ginger hair whipping around the corner.

And if anyone noticed that a pair of mortal enemies came back to school in January unable to keep their arms off of each other...well, no one mentioned it.


End file.
